


The Cleveland Fiasco

by red_sky



Series: Miles Traveled and Cars Crashed [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, and seth is getting tired of their shit, but he has a plan, if they don't end up killing each other., lots of bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1777990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_sky/pseuds/red_sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is, though, eternally grateful that Seth’s there to be a mediator, because if it were just the two of them? They would kill each other. He does his best not to complain about Dean to Seth, not only because it’s not fair to put Seth in that position, but because that would be admitting defeat, that Dean was getting to him. And he’s not going to give Dean that satisfaction.</p><p>Okay, so maybe he’s not helping the situation, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January 26, 2014 – Pittsburgh, PA

**Author's Note:**

> My brain has been eaten by Ambreigns this week. I blame it both on Vanessa and the Raw Backstage Pass segment where Dean asks Roman how many cars they've crashed together, and Roman sshs him like a giant adorable dork. So this series is how they went from being distant co-workers to business partners to bickering bros to still bickering but ultimately devoted best friends and lovers. This installment is set around Royal Rumble 2014 and the following Raw.

Here’s the thing.

It’s not that Roman hates Dean. Unlike Seth, whose feud with Dean in FCW had damn near been a Shakespearian play with several acts and even an intermission, he never had any beef with Dean during their time in developmental. Sure, he made sure to stay as far away from Dean as possible, because he could smell the crazy infiltrate the air at the mere _mention_ of Dean’s name during one of Dusty’s pre show meetings. He had glanced around the room during that meeting, a bit perplexed at the looks on everyone’s faces when Dusty announced Dean had been signed. Seth’s mouth had been hanging open, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was excited or horrified. The rest of the roster had settled for horrified. Regal had grinned like a lovesick school boy who had just been asked to prom by the girl he had been crushing on throughout the entirety of high school.

That was the clincher, cause when William Regal smiles when he hears your name, you are trouble with a capital T.

It turned out that there had been a very good reason as to why everyone had looked horrified during that meeting, because Dean wasn’t just trouble, he was Chaos. If Hannibal Lecter and the Joker and Alex from Clockwork Orange had a threesome, somehow miraculously had a child, and that child was trained to wrestle, the result of that unholy union and extremely poor parenting choice would have been Dean.

But even then, Roman didn’t hate him. He didn’t get Dean, and he certainly didn’t get why Seth had accepted Paul Heyman’s offer for a contract knowing that he’d have to work with the guy who had literally, very meticulously, and quite gleefully driven him insane.

(When asked about it, Seth had just shrugged and answered, “Stockholm Syndrome, maybe.”)

And with time, Roman got used to him. Dean likes to portray himself as this great, real-life monster from classic horror novels, but he actually isn’t that at all.  He understands why Dean does it; it’s strategy. Dean’s by no means small, but he doesn’t have Roman’s size and strength, and he doesn’t have Seth’s inhuman athleticism and warm, magnetic glow. What he does have, though, is intelligence. By making his opponents question his sanity, he either terrifies them or makes them underestimate his skill. It’s how he wins every battle before he even gets in the ring.

So Dean’s really not a monster. What he is, though, is a brat. A snarling brat with a giant chip on his shoulder. He doesn’t talk a lot about his home life, but Roman’s heard all the promos of how tough he had it growing up. He’s not sure what’s fact and what’s fiction, but he does know that Dean thinks the world owes him for what he went through in the past. He doesn’t think that he’s owed money or fame or titles (which is something Roman does respect about him), but he does think he’s owed prestige. He thinks he’s owed respect and admiration. Because of who he is, because he exists when the world apparently tried its hardest to make sure he didn’t, who the hell knows.

This is what drives Roman nuts. More than Dean’s crudeness, more than his weird obsession with cleanliness (which threw Roman for a loop at first, he expected Dean to revel in being filthy), more than his insanely annoying insistence on getting the last word.

Growing up, Roman’s father had metaphorically and occasionally literally beat it into his sons’ heads that they’re not owed a single thing in life. That they had to work for everything, just like everyone else, and not coast by on their name.  And he could, he could use his last name, but he doesn’t. No one is owed anything, and it infuriates him that Dean believes otherwise.

It also drives him nuts that Dean has become obsessed with proving that he’s better than Roman. Oh, he talks a good game about them being a team, them being united, but Roman can see through the bullshit. Ever since Survivor Series, Dean’s had a giant stick up his ass, obsessed with proving that he is not the weak link of the group. Which he’s clearly not, considering he’s the only one holding a title, but Dean Ambrose does not recognize Earth Logic. He only recognizes Crazy Person Logic, which interprets the past few weeks as Dean clearly being inferior simply because Roman had a good night.

But Dean also refuses to believe that he’s inferior to anyone, so obviously Roman’s the problem. Even though Roman doesn’t think Dean’s inferior at all. Everyone has highs and lows. Dean’s just going through a slump right now, but no, that can’t be it. There’s no way that could be it at _all_.

It’s classic transference, but last he checked, he’s not Dean’s therapist. He’d probably quit the profession all together and retire to a remote location off the coast of New Zealand if he was Dean’s therapist (not that Dean would see a therapist, because _obviously_ there’s nothing wrong with him).

But he’s a professional. He’ll work through this, because despite their differences, they really are a great team. More than that, he’s a grown ass man, and he’s not going to let Dean’s bratty behavior ruin such a fantastic team.

He is, though, eternally grateful that Seth’s there to be a mediator, because if it were just the two of them? They would kill each other. He does his best not to complain about Dean to Seth, not only because it’s not fair to put Seth in that position, but because that would be admitting defeat, that Dean was getting to him. And he’s _not_ going to give Dean that satisfaction.

Okay, so maybe he’s not helping the situation, either.

It’s so hard not to get annoyed, though. And of course, the tension between them escalates when they lose a 3-on-1 match against Punk at TLC the next month. Which is annoying based on principle alone; Punk is great, but he should not have beaten all three of them at once. The fact that one man was able to trump their much lauded synchronicity is infuriating, but hey, shit happens. It’s not like he meant to hit Dean with that spear. And it’s not like he could have stopped himself.

But it also pisses him off because he knows, he fucking _knows_ , that Dean is going to take it personally.

And he does take it personally. He tries to pretend he doesn’t, but he totally does, and when Punk calls him the weak link in front of the world, it takes every single ounce of self-restraint Roman has not to walk over to a ringpost and hit his own head repeatedly against it because _dammit_ , Punk just has to go and make it worse. Then there’s the Piper situation, which on a scale of bad to nuclear ranks apocalyptic, because Piper is Dean’s idol and his idol tells him in front of millions of people that he’s not good enough.

Roman’s not the kind of person who bemoans anything, but man, _fuck his life_.

Seth starts working overtime to keep Dean from tearing out someone’s kidneys and eating them with fava beans and Chianti, but Roman’s pretty sure that it’s only going to work for so long. Dean’s mumbling, which used to be relatively harmless, has now taken on a homicidal tone that would land him on one of those crime investigation shows as a case study. He also starts picking more fights than usual, always with Roman, never with Seth. For some reason, his batshit insane brain has classified Seth as a friend. Roman, however, is classified as enemy.

Of course. Makes sense, really, except for the part where it doesn’t. But nothing about Dean makes sense, so he really shouldn’t be surprised.

It all comes to a boiling point at the Rumble, and even though the logical part of Roman’s brain knows that it’s every man for himself, he also knows that it wasn’t this talking point that inspired Dean to almost throw him out. No, it had everything to do with Dean proving once and for all that he’s better. And not just that he’s better, but that Roman’s not good enough to hang with the amazing Dean Ambrose.

Which is pure, utter bullshit. He gets being competitive, he’s super competitive himself, but you don’t try to push down your only friends. You don’t try to hold your friends down because you want to be known as better than them.

He’s able to forget about it during the rest of the match, and the disappointment is bitter on his tongue when he walks down the ramp to the back as Batista preens in the ring. Everyone’s gathered around at Gorilla when he walks through the curtain, but no one can say a word to him because Dean is barreling towards him.

“You motherfucker!” he’s snarling, and Roman wants to be shocked at Dean’s audacity, but he’s not. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“What the fuck is _my_ problem?” Roman has never heard his voice this low, and it would scare him a little if he wasn’t feeling so murderous right now. “Let’s talk about _your_ damage for a second, because last I checked, you’re the one who tried to throw me out first.”

“Of course I did,” Dean huffs, like it’s perfectly logical for him to be angry at Roman for doing the same damn thing he tried to do. Of course it is. Crazy Person Logic. “I had to take my fucking shot, man.”

“Oh, your shot?” Roman snaps. He’s tired and sore and sweaty and pissed, and having Dean stare him down with his beady eyes isn’t helping with his mood. “I’m sorry, I forgot this was called the Dean Ambrose Rumble. How stupid of me, how could I forget that the entire world revolves around Dean Ambrose.”

“Right, because the world revolves around Roman Reigns, the real life Samoan Disney Prince!” Dean yells. They’ve attracted an audience, but neither of them care, too focused on each other to realize that people are whispering and possibly taking bets on which one is going to swing first. “With your stupid mane of hair and your granite jaw and your _prestigious_ fucking last name-“

Whoever betted that Roman would take the first swing is about to collect, because his vision turns red and he is snarling. “You arrogant prick-“ he hisses, closing the distance between them until he’s right in reach of Dean’s stupid, smug face.

“That’s enough!” The sound of Seth’s voice is like a cold bucket of water dumped on his head, and Roman steps back to see Seth stomping towards them. His jaw is set tightly, but his eyes are blazing with fury. Oh shit, he had forgotten that he had eliminated Seth, too. Seth clearly hasn’t forgotten, and he grabs both of them by their arms, his grip painful as he drags them into the nearest empty room. “Get your asses in here _now_!”

Slamming the door shut, it’s clear that Seth is no mood for their shit right now. Dean opens his mouth to protest, always needing the first and last word, but before he can speak Seth grabs the nearest object, a water bottle, and chucks it in Dean’s direction. “You’re going to shut the fuck up and you fucking assholes are going to fucking listen to me! You even breathe too fucking loudly, I will tape your fucking mouth shut, so fucking help me God!”

Dean wisely closes his mouth, and Seth is pointing at them like he wishes his finger was a gun and he could shoot them both. “We agreed that we’d get rid of everyone until it was us at the end,” he says, his voice taking on a dangerously low tone. Holy shit, Roman has never seen him so angry. He had honestly thought Seth was incapable of getting angry. “We had a plan. It was a good plan.” He raises his voice again, screaming, “And then you have to fucking go and fuck it all up cause you’re a fucking asshole!”

“And you!” He turns his attention to Roman, shaking his head. “You have to get all fucking pissed off and fucking Hulk out and fucking eliminate me in the process! When I was trying to fucking help because you two cock knockers are too fucking stupid to function sometimes!” His face is bright red, and the vein in his neck is protruding so much, Roman’s worried it’s going to pop.

“I’m fucking sick of this!” he’s screaming. He’s going to have a heart attack if he keeps this up. “I’m fucking sick of having to referee you fucking fucks cause you’re in this stupid fucking dick waving contest! I’m over it! I’m supposed to be your fucking friend, not your fucking mothers or your fucking marriage counselor! So guess what?” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the keys to their rental and throwing them at Roman. “I’m gonna ride with someone who isn’t a fucking douchebag and doesn’t do stupid shit like ruin perfectly good plans cause they’re fucking dicks! Sort your fucking shit out! And it better be sorted by tomorrow, because I will kick both of you in the nuts so fucking hard even the mere idea of having children will give you blue balls!”

The room falls silent, save the sound of Seth panting to catch his breath after that rant. Roman understands that Seth’s pissed, he really does, but this is a bad idea. This is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. The two of them in a car alone together? It’s only a two and half hour drive to Cleveland, but he’s positive that one of them (or both of them) won’t make it there alive.

Dean blinks, and Roman’s jaw almost hits the floor at what he says next. “Dude. You just said fuck twenty five times in less than a minute.”

Roman can’t help himself and gives Dean a side eye. “You counted?”

“Your attention to detail would be touching if I didn’t want to punch you right now,” Seth retorts. He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair before he continues. “Look, I get it. You-“ He points to Dean. “Have more issues than National Geographic. You-“ He points to Roman. “Don’t like people insinuating you’re using your name. I _get_ it. I really, really do. But we’re a team. We’re a team and we work this shit out cause this shit keeps our eye off the prize.” He pauses at that, the anger fading from his face, and Roman’s reminded of just why he loves Seth so much. “And I don’t want to do this without you. Both of you. So please, just fix whatever it is that’s got you two like this so I don’t have to yell and scream one minute and be mushy the next. It’s exhausting.”

“Okay,” Roman finds himself saying, ignoring the way Dean whips his head around to look at him like he’s suddenly contracted a contagious disease. “Okay, you’re right. We’ll ride together and we’ll sort it out. Promise.”

Seth gives him a smile, a brief one, before he turns to look at Dean. “Dean?”

“Fine.” He looks like he’s about three seconds away from throwing a tantrum, but he won’t. For some reason, Seth just gets to Dean, gets through to him like no one else. He should write a book about how he does it. Title it _Speaking Crazy: Tips from The Dean Ambrose Whisperer_. Roman will be the first in line to buy it.

“Good.” Seth turns on his heel and walks over to the door, pulling it open before he turns back to look at them. “And you better not call me and try to get me referee through speaker phone, either, cause I’m not answering. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go find some blood pressure medicine, even though I’m too fucking young to be taking it.”

He walks out, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. Roman turns to look at Dean, who’s staring at the door with a puzzled expression on his face. “Huh. I think he’s really mad.”

Roman takes a deep breath and internally counts to ten. Only God can help him now.


	2. January 27, 2014: Cleveland, OH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He cannot kill Dean and leave him on the side of the road. Doing so would probably get him arrested, put in jail, and fired. Seth would kill him. Somehow, that seems worse than the whole being in prison for life thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for their kind words in regards to this story. For the first time in a while, I'm really excited to be writing again. Please feel free to leave any constructive crit should you feel the urge, and I hope this next chapter doesn't disappoint.

It’s Dean’s turn to drive, but he makes a beeline for the passenger’s side and opens the door before Roman is even halfway to the car. “It’s your turn,” he reminds him, and he grits his teeth so hard he’s amazed he doesn’t break one when Dean shrugs.

“Nah, I’ll do it next time.”

Oh, how kind of him, to let Roman go first for once. He almost snaps right then, but he can hear Seth’s voice, reminding him of the pain that awaits his dick if they don’t patch things up. He rather likes the state of his dick as it currently is, so he decides not to argue. “Fine.”

Dean’s smug as he opens one of the back doors and tosses his bag inside, shutting it with a flourish as he gives Roman a smirk. He’s way, way too pleased with himself for a guy who just got a verbal beatdown by his best friend for being an asshole. But then, being called an asshole probably makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. It probably has the same effect on him as a child hearing a “I’m proud of you” from their parents. He probably interprets it as a declaration of love.

He’s humming as he settles into the passenger seat, and the instant Roman starts the car, he’s already fiddling with the radio. “Driver picks the station, remember?” Roman says, taking a long, deep breath that almost sounds like a hiss.

“Not this time.”

Lord give him strength. Roman cracks his neck, glaring at Dean and the way he’s already slipped his shoes off and is adjusting his seat back so he can prop his feet up on the dash. “I guess you’re going to pass on GPS Duty too, aren’t you?”

“Now that you mention it.” Dean looks at him, smiling gleefully. “That’s a great idea. Thanks, man.”

He is doing everything in his power to piss Roman off. And by God, it is working. Roman knows that eventually Dean will give him a half-assed apology, just so he can tell Seth that they worked it out and have it technically not be a lie. But he will push and prod and be an obnoxious shit leading up to the apology. It’s what he always does, and Roman knows it. But after the night he’s had, he is not in the mood for Dean’s games.

“Look, I know you’re going to throw out some lame apology you don’t mean so you can maintain your reputation for always ‘keeping your word’’,” he tells Dean, throwing up finger quotes with one hand while he backs out of the parking spot. “But try not to be such a condescending asshole about it. I know that’s hard for you. But _try_.”

Dean laughs. God, even his laugh is infuriating. “Because you’re a paragon of virtue yourself,” he snaps back, rolling his eyes as he pulls his cap down over his eyes, even though it’s past midnight and completely dark outside. “Spare me the nobility. Your apology isn’t going to mean jack shit either, so let’s call a spade a spade.”

“It’s hard to apologize to someone who’s just going to ignore it and continue with the shitty behavior they’re supposedly sorry for,” Roman retorts. He waits for Dean to reply, because Dean can never not have the last word. But Dean just looks at him, eyes narrowed and jaw set in a grim line. He’s staring at Roman like he’s trying to figure something out, and can’t quite put his finger on it. Which is weird, cause Dean can figure anyone out. It’s one of his strengths, the one thing he prides himself most for. He can figure anyone out in seconds; Roman knows this is true, he’s seen Dean do it many times.

So it’s strange that he doesn’t know what to make of what Roman said. It wasn’t a particularly cryptic statement; he thought it was pretty straight forward. But Dean’s mind seems to work in puzzles and thinks in riddles, so maybe he’s genuinely confused by the simple clarity of Roman’s words. Or maybe he’s just offended.

That’s just rich. Seth can call him an asshole and threaten his manhood and it’s fine, but Roman calls him out on doing something shitty, and he’s _offended_.

“Whatever,” he mutters under his breath. “Be stubborn, I don’t give a shit.” And he doesn’t. He does not give a single flying fuck about Dean’s apology, his lack of apology, or anything else to do with him right now.

He lets out another sigh. Normally, Seth is on point, but he dropped the ball on this one.

Dean strangely (thankfully) stays quiet, leaning back in his seat and appearing to be sleeping while Roman drives. With Dean asleep, the first half of the trip is almost silent, and it’s soothing, allows Roman to clear his head and take tonight’s events in. He had a good run tonight, even broke a record, but it’s not enough. He had wanted that win so bad, he could taste it. And it had been his; he had Batista’s number, and the crowd was behind him. Sure, they may have thrown their hats in for him because Bryan wasn’t there and they just wanted to see someone else besides the status quo win, but by the end of that match, they were cheering for _him_.

Which felt good, better than he would have ever expected. He knows what people say about him; he doesn’t make it a point to read up on gossip, but he’s not stupid. He knows people write him off as one of WWE’s precious prototypes, the big strong guy who gets pushed because of his physique. Add in who he’s related to, and he may as well have “Overrated” stamped on his forehead.

But he’s busted his ass to prove that he’s not overrated, he’s sacrificed his time and his body and his entire life to learning, to getting better. Even on his days off, he watches old matches and studies every move, taking notes in a spiral bound notebook. That notebook goes with him everywhere, and he pulls it out during every training session, pointing out a new move he wants Seth to teach him. He never takes his eyes off Seth during their matches, because in the ring, there’s no one better than Seth. Hell, he even makes sure to watch Dean, listening to every word he says on the mic, studying every tick of his face, because there’s no one better at psychology than Dean.

He feels like tonight, he finally proved to everyone that he may not have the experience Seth and Dean do, but he’s learning, he’s trying. Tonight he proved that he has the desire and the drive to be more than what people expect him to be.

But he let it slip out of his grasp because of one mistake. One dumb mistake.

He suspects that part of the reason why Dean got to him so bad tonight is because of how much he’s disappointed with himself. He let himself down. Even worse, he let Seth, who stays in the gym with him past midnight to correct his technique, down. Hell, he even let Dean, who tries to pretend he doesn’t give a shit but will sometimes tell Roman to push his hair back off his face so the audience can see him while he talks, down.

Not that he’ll ever tell Dean that, mind you. Mainly because he doesn’t want to hear Dean tell him yeah, he _did_ let him down.

The car is blissfully silent for the first hour, and he’s finally able to turn the radio to a station that doesn’t play the 70’s rock Dean insists on listening to when they drive. But that bliss comes to an abrupt stop when they’re about thirty miles from their hotel, when Roman tries to swerve to miss a pile of broken wood, most likely a warehouse pallet, in the road. He must catch a nail or something, because he hears the tire pop, and he curses under his breath.

God hates him. God truly, one hundred percent, unquestionably hates him.

The sudden jerkiness of the car wakes Dean immediately. “The fuck?”

“Flat tire.” Roman pulls off to the side of the empty highway and turns the car off. This is the last thing he needs right now, stuck on an empty highway at two in the morning with Dean as his only companion. “Check and see if there’s a spare in the trunk.”

Dean snorts. “Why do I have to check?”

Deep breaths. Deep, purposeful breaths. He cannot kill Dean and leave him on the side of the road. Doing so would probably get him arrested, put in jail, and fired. Seth would kill him. Somehow, that seems worse than the whole being in prison for life thing. “Then check for a flashlight. I’ll look for a spare.”

Throwing the car door open, Roman steps out before Dean can make another smartass comment. Logically, he knows this isn’t Dean’s fault. He might be annoying and infuriating and smug, but last Roman checked, he does not have psychic abilities he uses to cause flat tires. And even if he did, he wouldn’t use those powers to ensure that Roman would be stranded on an empty road with him at two in the morning. On second thought, maybe he would.

Of course, there’s not a spare in the trunk. Of course not. He lets out another curse. “No spare?” Dean calls out from the passenger window.

“No spare.” He can hear his mom’s voice in the back of his head, warning him that if he doesn’t start going back to church (any church, she said), God’s going to start taking back some of his bleesings. He had smiled and nodded at the time, but seeing Dean’s smirking face hanging out the window makes him wonder if maybe Mom had a point after all.

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” Dean drawls. “We don’t have a flashlight either. So it’s not like we could fix it even if we did have a spare.” It really doesn’t, but Roman supposes he appreciates the sentiment, none the less. That sentiment dies when he hears Dean laugh. “Guess you’re stuck with me all night, Peaches.”

It shouldn’t bother him. It’s not the worst nickname Dean’s come up with, but it’s the way he said it, condescending as hell. Roman’s tired, and he’s pissed at himself and he’s pissed at Dean, and he just wants to get in bed and sleep but he can’t, and it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. “Call me that again and I’ll break your face.”

“What? You don’t like it?” Dean grins, eyes sparkling. “It’s not reverent enough? Let me guess, your mom calls you her little prince. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re her little prince.”

Roman knows he shouldn’t rise to the bait. He knows he should let this go. But he’s sick of Dean throwing his family and his heritage in his face. He’s sick of Dean using it as a means to demean him. And before he can stop himself, he stalks over to the passenger’s side, throwing the door open and reaching in to grab Dean by the collar of his jacket. “Whoa, whoa, whoa what the fuck-”

“Shut up!” Roman roars in his face, slamming him up against the side of the car and using both hands to pin him to it. “Shut up! I’m sick of your fucking mouth! I just...what the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Why do you fucking do this, do you really fucking hate me that much?”

“What?” It’s very, very rare when Dean Ambrose is shocked. And Roman has no doubt that he is, his eyes are so wide and flittering across Roman’s face. “Dude, I don’t hate you. This is just what I do.”

“Bullshit!” He tightens his grip on Dean’s collar and shakes him, because it is bullshit, this isn’t just what Dean does. This is way, way more than that. “You don’t pull this shit on Seth! You don’t bust his balls about every single fucking thing and you don’t go out of your way to piss him off every single second! So just tell me, what the fuck I did that pissed you off so much you feel like you have to spend every waking moment being a dick to me.”

He’s breathing heavily now, and he bites his tongue as he waits for Dean to answer. There’s much more he wants to say; he wants to tell Dean that he knows that on paper, they shouldn’t be friends at all. He knows that given the choice, Dean wouldn’t have had anything to do with him in the beginning. Their personalities are too different, their backgrounds are too different for them to ever really be true friends. But he tries, he tries so hard to smash the preconceptions Dean has of him, and no matter what he does, it’s never enough. He wants to tell Dean that he’ll stop trying if that’s what Dean wants, he’ll stop trying to be his friend if that’s what he wants. Dean just needs to cut the shit and just say so, because Roman doesn’t know how much longer he can do this.

He’s not sure what Dean’s going to say. And honestly, he’s not sure if he wants to hear it.

“Roman.” He’s surprised when Dean sighs, the previous contempt replaced by somber contemplation. “You didn’t do anything. I swear. You didn’t do anything.”

 _Then why are you like this?_ Roman wants to ask. If Dean doesn’t hate him, then why is he like this? He doesn’t say it out loud, but Dean seems to hear it regardless. “This is just...just how I am with everyone. That’s all.”

“You’re not like this with Seth,” Roman repeats.

“Seth is different,” Dean replies, his voice calm. Roman knows what he means without him saying it; Seth is different because he’s the first who didn’t walk away. He’s different because Dean gave him his worst and didn’t run. But just because Seth’s the first doesn’t mean he’s going to be the last, and Roman wishes Dean would see that.

He notices, though, that Dean’s staring at him like he has a secret, and he’s trying to figure out whether he should play his hand or keep the cards close to his chest. It takes him a few moments to decide, and Roman’s shocked at what he says next. “He doesn’t need it like you do.”

“Need it?” he asks, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, need it?”

Dean sighs, and ducks his head for a moment, like he’s trying to collect his thoughts. “What we do...it’s ruthless,” he says, his voice soft. “It’s cutthroat. It’ll take everything you are and gorge on your bones until you’re nothing but ash. And I’m not talking about the pain and the injuries or the physical shit. I’m talking mental. I’m talking emotional.”

“I know that,” Roman says.

“Do you?” Dean stares at him, his gaze intent, and Roman feels like he’s on a metal table and Dean is above him with a scalpel, trying to open him up and see what’s inside. “I think, on the surface, you do. You have to, considering where you come from. But I don’t think you really _know_. And you can’t, you just started, and that’s okay. But you’re going to go so far. I know it. I _see_ it, clear as day. You’re just getting started, and you’re gonna last for so long, Roman. You have the ability to last forever.”

Roman wants to say something, but he has the feeling that what Dean’s saying is important, and he’s not done. So he stays silent as Dean reaches out, tentatively placing his hand on Roman’s chest. It’s not a gesture of distance, though, it’s a gesture of affection. “But people along the way aren’t going to make it easy. And I know you don’t expect them to. But I don’t think you really know how far everyone else is going to be willing to go to make sure you stay in the box. They’re going to take everything that makes you _you_ and they’re going to use it to keep you down.” He pauses, shaking his head. “I can’t stand by and let that happen.”

And it suddenly dawns on Roman, everything Dean’s saying, everything he’s been doing in the past few weeks. Every stupid argument about whose turn it is to drive, every smug smile in the ring, every crack about his family, it’s not Dean solely trying to assert his dominance. Sure, it has a little to do with that, but Roman sees now that Dean’s _preparing_ him, training him for what’s to come so it won’t destroy him when his time finally comes. He’s been preparing him all this time.

“And it has nothing to do with your insecurity complex,” he says, the tone of his voice suggesting a statement as opposed to a question.

“Oh, it does,” Dean confirms with a nod. He glances up at Roman, and Roman’s struck by the softness in his eyes, the slight smile on his face. “But that’s _my_ shit, not yours. We’re talking about you. And I...I wanted you to know, there’s a reason why I do it. But it has nothing to do with hate.”

No, it doesn’t. It’s unconventional, and in a way it doesn’t make sense, but then again, it does. Dean’s always so guarded with his thoughts, with his emotions, especially with the fact that he cares about things, about people. Being open is weakness, and Dean Ambrose is not weak. So yeah, it makes total sense that instead of having heart to hearts with Roman, he’d go this route instead. This way, he gets to take care of Roman without Roman ever knowing it and him possibly using as that affection against Dean later.

It makes sense, but it’s also sad, in a way.

Regardless, Roman feels a huge weight being lifted from his chest, and he smiles down at Dean, reaching up and clasping his shoulder. It’s not an apology, but it’s an explanation, and Roman would rather have that than an apology any day. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay.”

The moment is then broken, the sincerity of it apparently too much for Dean to handle. “Good. And we didn’t even need a quack shrink to have a breakthrough like some of our co-workers,” he cracks. He slips out from underneath Roman’s grasp, reaching back into the car and pulling out his phone. “I’mma call Seth and let him know that A) we didn’t kill each other and B) we need a ride.”

Roman nods at that. He’s intensely relieved, a little more certain now, but there’s still one thing that’s bothering him. “One more thing,” he says. “Why Peaches?”

Dean grins at that, and Roman notices the dimples in his cheeks. It’s not the first time he’s noticed them, but it is the first time that seeing them makes him smile back. “I like peaches,” he answers. “They’re my favorite fruit.”

 

 


	3. January 27, 2014 –Cleveland, OH - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course he’s fine. He’s just tired and exhausted and needs to sleep for, like, three thousand years. Sleep will definitely cure the weird-ass road his brain seems intent on going down. Because it’s ludicrous; Dean is not cute. He’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the last chapter of this part, I promise. Next up will be The Kansas City Incident. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and read the story so far; we're just getting started!

“So we’ve got a problem.” At that, Roman raises an eyebrow, and he notices that Dean has the grace to look somewhat sheepish. He wishes he had a calendar to write this moment down, so that one day, he’ll be able to look back and say that on January 27, 2014, Dean Ambrose was actually contrite. “He’s not answering his phone.”

Roman can’t help but let out a sigh. Of course Seth’s not answering his phone; after all, he had warned them he wouldn’t. It would figure that the night that Roman and Dean legitimately need him, he’s too pissed at them to answer the phone. Karma, it seems, is having a grand ol’ time tonight.

“He did tell us he wasn’t going to,” he murmurs, opening the back passenger side door so he can get his phone out of his bag. Maybe Seth’ll answer him; he is known for being a bit more level-headed, so maybe if he’s the one who calls, Seth will realize that it’s an actual emergency, as opposed to Dean just whining for Seth to come fix everything. But Seth doesn’t answer for him, either, and he lets out another long sigh. “Okay. Who else can we call?”

Walking around the side of the car, Dean hops up on the trunk, legs dangling as he looks to be thinking. “I’d say Cesaro, but he’s probably who Seth caught a ride with,” he says.

“Which means Seth probably told him not to answer the phone if either of us call,” Roman finishes. He’s racking his brain, but he cannot think of a single other person to call. They’re not exactly well-liked, what with the whole pulverizing every single person they can get their hands on thing. They don’t really associate with anyone, other than Cesaro, and Seth’s really the only one who _actually_ talks to him. “We’re fucked.”

“We’re fucked,” Dean confirms. Lying back against the windshield, he pats the spot next to him. “Might as well get comfy, cause we’re gonna be here awhile.”

The last thing Roman wants to do is disturb this delicate truce they’ve just reached, but it is way, way too cold to sit outside for who knows how long. “Too cold,” he says. “Let’s sit in the car instead.”

Amazingly, Dean jumps off the trunk without an argument. He smiles at Roman, shakes his head a little as he mutters, “Wimp.” It lacks any bite, and sounds fonder than anything else.

“C’mon, even you have to admit it’s cold as hell out here.”

Dean shrugs. “I’m used to it,” he says. Roman had almost forgotten that they were in Dean’s home state; he wonders how many nights Dean’s spent like this, out in the cold waiting for someone to come find him. Not that Dean will ever tell him, nor will Roman ever ask, but he does wonder sometimes about Dean’s past, how it shaped him, how it continues to shape him to this day. “You think this is bad, the winter of ‘94 was negative twenty-four. Now that, that was fucking bad.”

“I would have died,” Roman declares as he gets back in the car. Since they’re going to be here for a while, he reclines his seat back so he can at least lay down a little, placing his phone in the middle console so he can hear it in case Seth calls him back.

“I thought the same thing when I moved to Florida,” Dean says. He props his feet back up on the dash, crossing his arms over his chest as he closes his eyes. “Instant I stepped off the plane, thought I’d melt like the Wicked Witch.”

They’ve never talked about their days in developmental, but they’ve got some time to kill. And Roman’s curious; over the past year he’s spent with Dean and Seth, he’s become more and more curious about Dean’s experiences. Seth’s pretty much an open book; he’ll answer any question asked. Dean, though...he’d rather get a root canal while lying on a bed of hot pokers than talk about his past. So it sticks out to Roman, that he’s actually talking a little about it. But it also piques his interest, the way Dean says he stepped off a plane, and he turns to look at him. “You didn’t drive down?”

“No.” He leaves at that. Sharing time is apparently over. Roman can fill in the blanks, though. One drives if they have a lot of possessions to bring with them; one flies if they’ve got nothing to bring.

They both fall silent, and it’s incredibly, incredibly awkward. Or maybe that’s just on Roman’s part; Dean seems fairly relaxed, pulling his cap over his eyes and zipping his jacket up all the way before he rests his hands on his stomach. As weird as it is (which, to be honest, is pretty much par the course for Dean), the car is really the only place where Dean actually sleeps. Whenever they get a room, he’s up all night, but always quiet, careful not to wake Roman or Seth. If he’s in a car for longer than an hour, he’s out like a light. Roman’s the exact opposite; he can’t sleep in a car to save his life, something about being confined in a small space like that making it impossible for him to sleep. “I don’t know how you can sleep right now,” he mutters under his breath.

“Cause I’m tired?” The tone of Dean’s voice is a little sarcastic, but for the most part, Roman can’t detect any scorn or disdain. Another moment to record on the calendar. “We had a pretty rough night, in case you forgot.”

Roman snorts at that. Like he could forget; he’s pretty sure he’s going to be walking like an old man in the morning, especially if Seth takes forever to respond to their rescue call. But he smiles at the way Dean uses “we” instead of “I.”

“I think I’m gonna call in dead,” Dean’s saying. He looks over at Roman, wrinkling his nose. “Think they’d mind if I called in dead?”

“I think they’d mind if you called in dead.” He laughs when Dean groans, and he has to resist the urge to reach over and do something like mess with Dean’s hat. He does things like that with Seth all the time, but Dean’s different. He doesn’t take stuff like that as silly acts of affection; he takes it as an insult. It’s sad, but Roman tries not to make an issue of it. “You’re too much of a money maker to call in dead.”

Dean looks up at that, and he looks shocked almost, like he has no idea why Roman would say such a thing. “Me?” he scoffs. “Yeah right. They’re coming to see you, don’t even try to deny it.”

“They’re coming to see all of us,” Roman insists. Sure, the fans have been cheering for him more and more, but they’ve been cheering for _all_ three of them, not just him. They’re just as excited to see Seth’s death-defying moves as they are Roman’s spear. They clamor to hear Dean speak just as they clamor to see Roman’s Superman punch.

Wait...does Dean not realize this? Does he really think that he’s not just as important as Roman and Seth are? He knows how competitive Dean is, how much it rankles him when people look at him and don’t see what he firmly believes himself to be. But surely he doesn’t think that the fans don’t give a shit about him. Because they do, they give more than just a shit about him, he’s the one that everyone’s dying to see go solo. He’s the one everyone says is ready now, he’s the one everyone is dying to be _truly_ let loose. Does he really not _know_?

“Okay.” The way Dean says it, it’s not up for further discussion. He’s had enough of mushy heart to hearts, and Roman even catches him rubbing his arm, like his skin is itching at the thought of even one more second of this bonding experience.

But Roman doesn’t want to let this go. He can’t let this go, not when Dean went out of his way to tell Roman, in his weird way, how much he believes in him. He deserves to know that others believe in him, too. Roman has no idea if his opinion matters as much to Dean as Dean’s does to him, but it’s worth a shot. “I’m serious.” There’s something about the tone of his voice that catches Dean’s attention, cause he looks up from underneath his hat, eyes narrowed as Roman continues. “They’re not coming just to see me, or to see Seth. They’re coming to see you, too. Hell, did you not hear the internet practically combust when word got out that you were signed?”

Dean scoffs, but his shoulders loosen and he’s no longer obsessively scratching his arm. “Do you not see the signs in the audience? Or the way everyone leans forward in their seat when you’re holding a mic? You think people really don’t give a shit about you? Cause I hate to burst your bubble, but they do. They _do_ , man.” It dawns on him that he’s not talking about their bosses or the fans. He’s talking about him and Seth.

“Don’t care,” Dean says, but his voice is soft. Way too soft, and it’s not the first time Roman wishes he could get inside Dean’s head, poke around and see what’s in there. He probably would come out worse for wear, but he’d kill for the chance to anyway to finally, finally understand the labyrinth that is Dean’s head. “Don’t care if they do or don’t.”

“He doth protest much,” Roman instantly replies back, because of course Dean cares. Well, he may not care if Roman gives a shit, but he certainly cares if Seth does. He’s always cared what Seth thinks, even before they became partners, before they even met. Even though Seth is younger by a few months, Dean really looks at him as the older brother, constantly seeking his approval. Whereas Roman has always been the tagalong.

“Dude, it is way too late to be throwing Hamlet at me,” Dean says. And it’s terrible, it’s really, really awful of him, but Roman is a little surprised at how easily Dean picked up on the reference. It’s not that he thinks Dean is dumb; no one who values their life and their appendages would ever say that Dean Ambrose is dumb. It’s that he doesn’t get most pop culture references; he’s strangely oblivious to the rest of the world and gets this really confused look on his face every time someone references a movie or anything computer-related. It’s cute, really.

Wait…cute? Where did _that_ come from? While Dean’s rambling about how he would classify himself more as Coriolanus than Hamlet (and isn’t _that_ interesting, him identifying with the great general who despises those he’s charged to protect), but Roman’s still stuck on the part where his brain apparently decided that cute was an appropriate word to describe Dean.

He’s never been one of those guys who freaks out about having his sexuality questioned. As far as he’s concerned, whoever anyone wants to sleep with isn’t any of his business, and sexuality isn’t an indicator of moral superiority. And he’s never been the type of guy to puff up his chest and assert his masculinity at the drop of a dime. He has no problem admitting when another man is handsome; Seth, for example, is a handsome dude. It doesn’t mean that he’s secretly longing to have a torrid affair with Seth; it just means he has eyeballs.

But it’s one thing to recognize another man being handsome, and another to call another man _cute_. Especially when that other man is Dean. He can see why some of the female fans love him; he’s got that dangerous, bad boy thing going on (which makes Roman laugh, because if they could see him when he first wakes up in the morning and his hair looks like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket, with drool crusted on his chin cause he sleeps with his mouth hanging open, that bad boy vibe would go the way of the Dodo bird). But cute? That’s the last word in the dictionary that should ever be used to describe Dean.

Cute is reserved for babies, human and animal alike. Not Dean.

“Roman? Helloooo, Roman?” He’s violently yanked from his thoughts by the sound of Dean’s voice. He’s staring intently at Roman, and holy shit, has his gaze always been this intense? Of course it is, but it’s one thing to see Dean stare someone down and another to have him do it to him. “You alright?”

Yes. Of course he’s fine. He’s just tired and exhausted and needs to sleep for, like, three thousand years. Sleep will definitely cure the weird-ass road his brain seems intent on going down. Because it’s ludicrous; Dean is not cute. He’s not. “Yeah, just. Tired.”

Before Dean gets the chance to say anything, Roman’s phone buzzes, and he may or may not almost drop it in his hasty attempt to pick it up. His earlier prayers have been answered; it’s a text from Seth, who says he and Cesaro are about fifteen miles ahead of where Roman and Dean are, but they’ll backtrack and pick them up. It ends with him asking, “You guys fix your shit?”

Yeah, they’ve fixed their shit, but Roman’s starting to wonder if he’s entered another, more perverse level of shit. If his brain continues on this road, it’s going to be worse than just the two of them engaged in a pissing contest. What the hell is he thinking, this isn’t anything to worry about. He’s just tired. He just needs some good sleep, and tomorrow it’ll be a distant memory.

He sends a quick text back, and looks at Dean. “That was Seth, he’s on his way to get us.”

“Thank fuck,” Dean breathes out, sighing in relief. “Not that you’re not delightful company and shit, but I’d rather not sit in a car all night freezing my ass off.”

It should not affect him that Dean referred to him as delightful company. It should not. And it doesn’t. It doesn’t affect him at all.

The sooner they can get out of this car, and out of Cleveland, the better.


End file.
